Blog Archives

Quest, by Sergio Nicolas

23/8/2019

“Are you going to die soon?”

“Yes, I guess.”

“Will you take me with you?”

“Can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

He was in search of true love. His search wasn’t easy. He searched everywhere but never realised how close his love was to him. He had been looking for love at all the wrong places. His quest for love only got longer. He stayed up all night and dreamt all day. The sun went down. The night deepened and darkness hid everything. He thought what could be more mysterious than night when you have secrets to bury.

A Mother Knows, by Alison Ogilvie-Holme

23/8/2019

Diandra advances down the hallway with purpose, eyes fixed forward as heels strike vinyl. On this day, she wants to announce her arrival. Cause a disturbance. Be difficult.

The role of single mom has worn down her resolve; countless meetings flowered with polite smile and passive demeanour; forever nodding in agreement. Professional advice given and received in the ‘best interests of the children’: Yes, of course. Oh, I see. I’ll give that a try.

But this time is different. A mother knows.

When Diandra reaches her destination, she pauses for a moment to picture her daughters. Courage. Here goes nothing.

Jordy, by Mark Tulin

23/8/2019

Jordy was the man of the house because his father was a drunk. He was the first college graduate of the family. His mother fussed over him and said he was special.

Soon he discovered that there were people smarter, better looking, and in higher positions in the world. Jordy’s pride was hurt. He thought he was entitled to be the best.

He put down co-workers, made light of their flaws, and snuck behind them and whispered demeaning things. This made Jordy feel significant to see others so fragile until he was fired and unable to get work references.

A Star is Born, by Colette Coen

23/8/2019

‘Do you think her bum looks big in this?’
‘The mother says it’s her nappy.’
‘Can we take it off?’
‘Not without risk.’
‘And what about those chubby wrists?’
‘All the kids seemed to have them. She was probably the best.’
‘The pot belly?
‘I know, again, it seems to be a thing. Something to do with them not having enough room for their organs.’
‘And the hair’s a bit unruly.’
‘Curls always are.
‘Oh well, I suppose she’ll have to do — I just hope the client is happy.’
‘I know. It’s just so hard to find stars these days.’

Struggle, by Gordon Lawrie

23/8/2019

It was now or never, she told herself. The pair of them lay on the bed together, and if she was ever going to sort out their relationship, she could delay no longer. Hesitantly, she reached across.

They launched into a violent struggle. Although able to remain upright at first, she was writhing on the floor in no time, pushing and pulling with every ounce of strength in her body. She was in such a grip that she could barely breathe.

Suddenly, with one final pull of the zip, she had won. "Yes!" she cried, "I'm into a size 12!"

The Class Reunion, by Marjan Sierhuis

23/8/2019

I am stoked, or maybe not. It has been twenty-five years since we graduated. I wonder if they will remember me. Maybe not. I wonder if they will notice I have aged. Perhaps not. I wonder if they will notice my crow’s feet. Maybe not. I wonder if they will notice I have gained a few extra pounds. Perhaps not. I wonder if they will miss me if I am a no show. Maybe or perhaps not.

Reflection, by Sandra James

23/8/2019

I know it’s been a while since we were at school but she’s aged…really aged. There’s more than a few wrinkles on her face, and her hair…it looks like a bird’s nest. A far cry from those cute pigtails she used to have. And her clothes, they look old enough to have been around since school days. Daggy, shapeless and waaaay out of fashion.

Note to self: never, ever again duck into our great new supermarket with its inescapable reflecting windows, wearing old gardening clothes.

Salad Anyone? by Linda Cornelissen

23/8/2019

‘The human body is 90% water, so basically we are just cucumbers with anxiety.’

Mine? I wish. It’s just the sort of thing I’d say, though. Like the startling thoughts and ideas that just come out all of their own accord, surprising even you?

My problem? They come out with such monotonous random irregularity. Totally unreliable. I’m sure you know those ones. They decide to defy all logic and come out about 90 seconds after you will them to appear. From the tip of your tongue to water vapour. It totally does my head in. I am the cucumber.

Clockwatching, by Henry Bladon

23/8/2019

My beeping alarm clock has a smiling face. I keep meaning to get another one because waking up to that’s starting to irritate me. I usually wake before the beeping starts, though, like my mind knows exactly when to send a message to my sleep centre. Sometimes I stare intently at the clock as if any moment something momentous will happen. Something like it will suddenly change its expression to one that’s less cheerful, which would stop making me feel as if I should be happy to get up every morning. Instead, it just keeps on grinning that mocking smile.

In The Beginning, by Julie Achilles

23/8/2019

'If you think about it, everything has a beginning and an end,' Raj declared out of the blue.

Unlike Raj to philosophise thought Sabrina, intrigued, but while he was in the mood to initiate a debate she just had to encourage him.

'Yes, but it also has a middle, take life, for example, birth- the beginning, Death- the end, life the bit in the middle'.

'Well actually I wasn't thinking that deep, I was talking about my chocolate twirl' replied Raj.

'Well really Raj!' shouted Sabrina disappointed.

Surgical Spirit, by Ella Craig

23/8/2019

My friend Kath had a baby last week, after her second round of IVF.

Five attempts for me. I quickened each time but never made it to full term.

Miscarriage. Sounds like something to do with trains, not something to do with death.

Fibroids, cysts, and a malignant tumour.

They took out the cot and left the playpen.

A complete hysterectomy, no more babies, and no more hysteria.

I find little to laugh about these days.

Because I am empty. Barren. A non-woman.

Well, half a woman.

I still have my tits.

Jellied Jitters, by Donna Matthews

16/8/2019

I feel it in my seeds. A juicy, delicious purpose awaits me. My skin is radiant…the perfect hue. I am ready.

A small boy comes skipping down my row. I quiver in anticipation as he spots me. He leans over, grabs me with his chubby hands, and in his basket I go. Arriving at his house, I see the water boiling, glass bottles standing ready, pectin on the counter.

Soon, I am transformed. No longer an individual berry but a sweet jelly jam. But why…why am I in the basement? Jellied and abandoned? Will I be forgotten down here?

I Want to Hold Your Hand, by Don Tassone

16/8/2019

As a kid, I listened to the Beatles sing “I Want to Hold Your Hand” and imagined holding someone’s hand like that one day.

Yours was the first hand I held that way. I held it on our first date. I held it at our wedding. I held it as we both held our children’s hands too. I held it as we drove to the hospital and when you lay in bed.

I heard that Beatles song again today. I remembered that when I touched you, I felt happy inside. I want to hold your hand.

When the Wild Wind Blows, by Chitra Gopalakrishnan

16/8/2019

In the upper reaches of the mountain Satasringa, Vayu, the wind god, crashed recklessly through its rugged gorges.

His fervour for her was breathy.

He ran wanton air fingers all over her, taking her from a tempestuous wilderness of a million breezes and winds, gales and cyclones to the surprised stillness of a storm quietened.

She took in his ragged whisperings, his buoyant ardour, allowing him to breathe a new life into her.

Kunti, queen of Hastinapur, sought his intervention to carry forward the Kuru dynasty as her king husband was infertile.

She called Vayu’s son Bhima, the powerful one.

Feelings, by Linda Cornelissen

16/8/2019

The English teacher stood before the class. She needed to regroup before they were lost to her completely. A colleague’s sudden illness had brought her out of semi-retirement.

“Silent reading. 15 minutes,” she barked. Audible grumbles slowly dissipated into the longed-for silence. 15 minutes later, “Books away.”

Their writing task appeared on the board. “But Miss?” echoed around the room.
The task read: Write what you feel. 20 minutes (silence)

Some wrote. Many fiddled. Protests continued. Few read their work voluntarily.

This became a weekly task. Grumbles gradually reduced. More took part willingly. Some amazing writing emerged.

Heirloom, by Stephen Shirres

16/8/2019

Amazing what you can find in a charity shop for 99p. Ignored priceless editions and well thumbed paperbacks. Today's find, a book of fairy tales, full of magical adventures and far away kingdoms. A family history scribbled on the inside cover, a gift from mother to daughter, generation after generation. Simple messages of dates and 'love Mum'. The longest one left till last.

Dear George. Happy anniversary. I can't believe we have been together now for a year! What better way to celebrate than by giving you my favourite book. Will we give it to our own daughter? Love Kara.

Eye Not on the Prize, by Rod Drake

16/8/2019

Eventually God, like all of us, got bored. So YHWH went for a stroll through the cosmos whistling something by Bach or maybe Brahms (He never could keep those two straight). God became intrigued by the pulsating stars, the aimless comets and the collapsing black holes. Soon (in space-time) YHWH had wandered so far that He was helplessly lost and didn’t know how to find his way back to the Milky Way (directions being relative in the universe). So while God searched for home, humanity was left to its own devices, which explains a lot of things.

Three to Five Seconds, by Mary Wallace

16/8/2019

His brain registered his family cowering in fear, he could hurl it through the doorway, but other families crouched there. Rolling away from his loved ones, he drew the live grenade into himself, smothering it with his body. Today he would meet his maker with a clear conscience.

Stranger Than Fiction, by Adrian McRobb

16/8/2019

Upon reading the story of the capture of the Enigma from U-110 by HMS Bulldog, I really wanted to meet the Captain in charge of the operation, unfortunately Addison-Baker was dead.

A few years ago, clearing out my bureau I came across some letters from an interview I sat in the mid-nineties, for the Northumberland Sea Fisheries Commission.

Reading them I remembered being informally interviewed by an older man with piercing blue eyes, before the more formal panel interview.

On the bottom of one of the letters was the signature Addison-Baker, I had met my hero without even knowing; strange?

The Ticking of the Clock, by Bex Gooding

16/8/2019

Grimlock paused, his hand hovering over the old document he was copying. He tilted his head to one side listening, but the howl did not repeat.

A wolf? Grimlock thought to himself.

Yendor his assistant interrupted his thoughts by dropping a large tome on the end of his desk. Grimlock growled.

‘This is the only one I can find.’ Yendor said sheepishly.
‘Where was it?’ Grimlock asked, glowering at Yendor.
‘In the folklore section.’
‘Leave it here.’

Yendor nodded and turned to leave.

‘Yendor.’ Grimlock said. ‘Did you hear anything just now?’
‘No Sir. Only the ticking of the clock.’

We Used to Have a Bag Lady, by Kim Favors

16/8/2019

“You kids leave Garbage Grandma alone,” we were told when the old woman began rummaging through trash cans on our street.

Our moms canceled the Salvation Army trucks and for the next two years stopped donating to thrift stores.

The day after we heard Garbage Grandma had died, we jimmied a window and snuck into her house.

Along with trash, we found our photos, toys and trophies.

What our parents had thrown away, Garbage Grandma had salvaged, cleaned and displayed.

And in chalk, she’d scrawled on a wall, “Welcome, My Family.”

We never did find out her name.

One Day in the Life, by Gordon Lawrie

16/8/2019

He sat outside a flower shop window, shoulders slumped, staring at the pavement. Four policemen stood around, having arrived in two patrol cars. None of the policemen acted harshly; they just wanted to help. The flower shop owner, who'd called them, understandably didn't know what to do.

The man sat silently for ages, incongrously framed by roses and chrysanthemums. Then he said his name, and the police were able to find out some details about him: the usual problems: drugs, alcohol, unemployment, mental health, hopelessness.

They took him to a nearby hostel. Tomorrow he'd be back, or somewhere else similar.

The Think Tank, by Mark Tulin

16/8/2019

While drinking ginseng tea, Mendel overheard two customers talking. He didn’t usually judge people, but he couldn't resist these two imbeciles. To prove his point, the bulk of their utterances included okays, likes, and you knows. As their dialogue regressed, Mendel imagined the two grunting Neanderthals exchanging ideas on life’s most crucial problems in a think tank. Everyone depended on these two geniuses for the preservation of our species. He imagined the world getting blown to smithereens as a result.

Mendel checked his watch, called an Uber and, in five-minutes, he was on his way to a Slightly Stoopid concert.

The Discovery, by Russell Conover

16/8/2019

Stan was overwhelmed by the clutter in his place. He dove in and started rearranging, cleaning, sorting. Everything that had a place went there, and everything that didn’t got one.

Then something caught Stan’s eye. He gasped as he laid eyes on a vintage jacket signed by his favorite musician, that the musician had given him at a concert. He’d completely forgotten about it! He rushed to the hobby shop to confirm its value, and then framed it to hang and display.

“I need to tidy up more often.” Stan smiled. “Who knows what else might be lurking in here?”

The Woman I Was, by Diane Clark

16/8/2019

It was eerily quiet in the old theatre, which had not been used for several years. I could smell the dust and mold. A bit of daylight shone from a side window – just enough to see the stage. I walked out on it and faced the empty seats. Closing my eyes, I listened for the applause – faint at first, then growing to a thunderous ovation. I saw myself in a glittering red gown, taking a triumphant bow, and catching flowers being tossed to me. I smiled and opened my eyes. It was good. I had been good. Life is good.

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